Drag Teen

by Jeffery Self

  “Was she okay?”

  “I don’t know. She went straight to the bathroom and told me she was fine, that she’d had a good time, and that she’d see me later. I refused to leave for a while, wanting the full story, but she told me she wasn’t going to budge until I’d left her alone. So I left her alone. At least temporarily.”

  “Is she still coming tonight?”

  “Absolutely. She even said so before I left. Speaking of which—how’d your speech turn out?” Seth asked, pulling me out of my thoughts as he shoved the wig back into the plastic shopping bag. I stopped dead in my tracks. My speech. Crap times one million. With everything that had happened the night before, I had forgotten to write my speech. An entire three-to-five-minute speech that I had to perform in less than five hours and I still hadn’t written a single word. It felt like forgetting a math quiz, only worse, because I actually cared about this.

  From my panicked expression, Seth knew exactly what had happened.

  Before I could say anything, the stage door squeaked open and Miss Hedini, the drag-queen magician, poked her head out.

  “Hey. You’re JT, aren’t you? Daryl’s got to approve everybody’s costumes. Hurry in here!”

  The door shut behind him as Seth handed me the shopping bag.

  “I am doomed,” I said.

  Inside the dressing room, everyone had their outfits on display for Daryl and his assistant. He was going through the wardrobe to make sure everyone would be dressed within the guidelines of the pageant. I walked in as he was saying no to a few different looks for being too suggestive or risqué. I felt my stomach turn as I stared down at my plastic shopping bag.

  The gowns these guys had were amazing, like the kind of thing Jennifer Lawrence would wear to the Oscars or, in some cases, the kind of thing Lady Gaga would wear to the grocery store. Their wigs were also perfect, the kind of expensive-looking wigs Tina had given me. At the other end of the long, narrow dressing room, I could see Tash nonchalantly combing one of her three stunning lace-front wigs that I reckoned were all actual human hair.

  I waited with dread as Daryl and his assistant made their way over to my side of the dressing room. Daryl was gushing all over the outfits held by the guy next to me, the only contestant with facial hair, who’d introduced himself, aptly, as Katy Hairy.

  I awaited my execution.

  After he’d finished praising Katy, Daryl stood before me. “Hello there, JT. Great seeing you.”

  As he smiled his big friendly smile, I didn’t want to disappoint him. It killed me to know that I absolutely would.

  “You getting excited for tonight?” he added.

  I nodded for what felt like thirty minutes as I built up the wherewithal to blatantly lie to this very kind man.

  Finally, I let out a cheery “Yep!”

  “Well, let’s see what you’ve got!”

  The room fell silent in my ears as the crinkling of the plastic bag got way louder than seemed possible from me digging out the ugly prom dress. The horror immediately registered on Daryl’s face, but he was too sweet to mention it, and instead said, simply, “Uh-huh. And what else?” I pulled out whatever was next, a surprise even to me, and revealed a long pair of black bell bottoms and a blue sequined poncho. Daryl tried his hardest to seem delighted, but by the time I got to the following outfit, a terrible sailor-style dress that would cut off around my knees, he couldn’t hold back his disdain.

  “Wow. Okay.” He cleared his throat, presumably because he had nothing else to say, and asked to see my wig. I could feel everyone’s eyes judging me as I pulled the pink wig out of my bag. Daryl’s face turned as white as a sheet. He just kept nodding and repeating the words, “Okay, great. Good.” Then moved on to the next guy.

  I was very, very, very screwed.

  Seth had stayed waiting in the alley for me, so when I finished with Daryl and had a fifteen-minute break, I went out to tell him how it had gone. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the horror people had shown on their faces was equal to what you’d see from people watching one of those Paranormal Activity movies or Sex and the City 2 for the first time. I lied and said it had gone okay and that I was feeling not quite as freaked out.

  Really, though, I had just resolved myself to defeat, and was quietly coming to terms with it.

  One more run-through of the opening number, and then we were on our own until showtime. I was too nervous to eat food before the show. I was in a pretty calm, resolved place about the fact that I would be the worst-dressed person in the pageant, and on top of that, maybe even the worst overall. Strangely, however, I felt like I had nothing left to lose. If I humiliated myself, Seth and Heather (if she showed up) were the only people in my life who’d know. The rest of the people—I’d never see them again. I’d lost my admission ticket to this brave new world. I would go back to my parents. Back to their blank stares and TV dinners. Back to the nothingness of my life in Florida.

  Tash and I passed each other in the hallway. I tried to ignore him, but he stopped me.

  “Excited?” he said in the phoniest voice I’d heard since Ariana Grande’s last album. I kept walking, but he kept calling to me. “Hey. JT! Are you excited?”

  I stopped, turned, plastered on a smile, and as bitchily as possible called back, “Oh, don’t you know it!”

  Then I kept walking, as I was fairly certain the alternative would’ve been to strangle him.

  I DIDN’T SMOKE. I’D TRIED a cigarette once, when I was fourteen. I’d stolen it from my mom’s purse, and smoking it had made me sick.

  Still, that was what I found myself doing in the alley behind the building two hours before showtime. Smoking my second cigarette ever. It was nerves; it was peer pressure; it was the need for a fabulous gesturing prop.

  Five of the other contestants and a few of the crew people were out there while I pretended not to want to vomit as I puffed the cigarette between my fingers. It was a necessary distraction from the panic I was feeling. I was an hour away from walking onstage looking like a homeless, bewildered showgirl in a sea of perfectly styled glamazons who knew exactly what the hell they were doing.

  There was a bad traffic jam, not unlike the one I had caused on my first night in the city. People were honking and yelling, but we all ignored it as we discussed drag, our futures, and the awesomeness of New York City. That’s why it took me so long to notice the person shouting my name, but finally, I did.

  “JT! JT BARNETT! You put that cigarette out or I’m coming over there and wringing your neck!”

  Finally I bolted up. It was the ghost of Nana calling down at me, and she’d chosen a real bad time to do so. However, as I looked around and into the sky, I noticed the black Escalade stuck in the traffic jam and the burst of orange hair shouting at me from the backseat window.

  It was none other than Tina Travis.

  It was like a cartoon. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Then I ran through the stopped traffic up to her window.

  “Get in,” she said. “This shit ain’t going anywhere any time soon.” She shouted among the shouting and honking. I got in.

  “What’re you doing in New York?!” I gasped.

  She shrugged and told me she was a superstar and that New York was where she belonged. I couldn’t argue that. She grabbed my knee and pinched it hard enough to bruise.

  “Well, now I guess I have to kill you,” she said, in the matter-of-fact way you’d say you need to water your plants or go pee, or kill two birds with one stone.

  “Huh?”

  “That thing you were smoking. I told you … with that voice of yours!”

  I tried explaining it was only because I was super stressed and nervous, but she wouldn’t hear it.

  “All you kids think you can just do whatever you want and that your voice won’t go away. Sure, we did too in my day, only difference is that we didn’t know any better. My generation was misinformed; yours is just plain stupid. You gotta choose one or the other, and, honey, I
get it. Smoking might just beat out the singing BS.”

  That’s when I decided to tell her everything.

  “My costumes got stolen, Tina. And my wigs. Your stuff. This horrible person who I happen to be sharing an apartment with and who absolutely hates me, he stole them and he won’t give them back, and if I tell the pageant he’ll make it worse and I’m screwed. So I’m stressed, okay? I was having a cigarette and I know that’s wrong and gross and nasty. I don’t even like the taste, but everybody else seems to think they calm them down, so I was just hoping they might do the same for me. But even after I finished it, I was still just as screwed as I was before I started smoking it.”

  Tina squinted her beautiful green eyes at me, either in thought or for dramatic effect. Judging from the short time I’d known her, I ventured to guess it was the latter.

  “Somebody stole your stuff?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you don’t think you’ll get it back?”

  “Nope.”

  I explained that Seth had, very sweetly, spent the last of our money on some outfits and a cheap wig. As she tapped her long red fingernail on her chin, I could see the wheels in her head turning.

  “Are you actually in New York just for the hell of it?” I asked.

  “Watch your mouth!” She locked eyes with me for a while, then finally let go with a shrug. “I’m here to see the pageant, dumbass.”

  “How did you even figure out where it was?”

  “You think I wouldn’t want to come see the first drag teen I’d ever met compete in my clothes and my wigs? I used to be famous. I’ve still got real powerful agents who can track down anything if I tell them to. Also, you left a pamphlet about the pageant in my garage apartment.”

  “But …”

  “I know. You screwed up and lost my clothes and wigs, and unfortunately you need to pay to replace them.”

  I felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me.

  “I’m kidding! Lighten up, kid. Here. You need a dose of irony if you’re going to be a drag queen. Calm down. You aren’t even taking a second to appreciate the fact that I came all this way!”

  “Oh. I’m sorry—you know how honored I am. I’m just distracted and worried about everything. It isn’t you.”

  “Lord, you’re freaking out again, aren’t you?”

  I nodded as she rolled her eyes, framed by fake eyelashes more ridiculous than those of any drag queen in the pageant.

  “So, let’s look at the facts. The big problem here is you don’t have a good wig, huh?”

  I shook my head, disappointed to have lost the incredible wigs she’d given me.

  “And you don’t have costumes?”

  “Nope.”

  She reached into the backseat and grabbed a small suitcase, placing it in my lap.

  “Here, wear these. That’s the emergency suitcase I bring in case I decide to go perform somewhere, spur of the moment.”

  “Tina, I can’t take more of your stuff.”

  “And take this.” She pulled the red bouffant off and handed it to me, her almost-bald head revealed underneath. “Wear it … but if you so much as think of taking a photo of me without it right now, I’ll make you wish you had never been born.”

  She tied the silk scarf around her neck into a turban, like the one Nana had worn during chemo. I ran my fingers through the gorgeous wig in my hands while something inside became completely calm, telling me that everything was going to be okay.

  I had gotten my chance back. And another killer wig to boot.

  Now I had to take it. The chance, not the wig.

  Well, actually, both.

  “MR. HART?” I CHASED DARYL down the backstage hallway. He was in a tizzy with last-minute preparations.

  “Yes, JT?”

  “I wanted to see if it’s too late to change my costumes.”

  Daryl frowned and started to say something, then stopped himself. Looking around to make sure no one was listening, he whispered, “I’m supposed to say no, according to the rules, but follow me.”

  I followed him into one of the small dressing rooms off the stage, pulling Tina’s suitcase behind me. He shut the door.

  “You can’t tell the others that I made an exception. Technically once your costumes have been approved, you’re not supposed to change them. But after seeing what you had, I think I can make an exception. Ultimately, I’m in charge and can alter the rules if need be.”

  I unzipped the suitcase of Tina’s outfits. Daryl was visibly taken aback. So was I.

  “Wow. JT. These are really nice pieces of clothing. Where did you get them?”

  “A friend.” He pulled out a long aqua-colored beaded gown that looked to have been hand-stitched. It was extremely impressive, so impressive that I couldn’t imagine why Tina would have packed such a thing, even to maybe perform in. But if there was one thing I had learned about Tina Travis, it was that she didn’t need a reason to wear a floor-length evening gown. To be honest, that’s something I had learned about almost everyone I had met in the past week.

  “Well, all I can say is wow. Of course you should wear them.”

  “Thanks.”

  I packed the bag back up. Daryl started to leave, then stopped.

  “Did something happen?” he asked. “Why did you have such terrible costumes earlier?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Those costumes I saw earlier. They were, well, I think we can both agree they were worlds different from these, right? Seemed like something you threw together in a hurry. I mean, they had thrift store price tags on them. Someone didn’t steal your original costumes, forcing you to have to piece together whatever you could find at the last minute, did they?”

  With a tight smile, I shook my head. Daryl didn’t break eye contact with me as he let himself out, adding, as we went out the door:

  “Don’t be afraid of Tash, okay? We all know that she’s a basic bitch. And while basic bitches sometimes win a contest or two, they rarely win at life.”

  I carefully guarded the new costumes for dear life in my little section of the dressing room. I had texted Heather and Seth with the big news; it was hard to fit the entire story into one text message, but I told them I’d fill in all the missing details later. Heather had texted me back with a series of rainbows, smiles, and ear emojis. While I was not entirely clear as to what that meant, I figured we were okay.

  I was doing my makeup at the mirror, attempting to re-create the steps Bambi had shown me. I kept screwing up and starting over, but with each restart, I was getting a little bit better. I had just gotten my eyebrows covered up and my base on when the stage manager popped in to notify us that we were an hour from beginning. Milton and Red walked over, their drag half-done. They looked like the strangest team in the Olympics, each wearing panty hose, gym shorts, tank tops, and wig caps.

  “Bonjour!” Milton sang to the tune of that song from Beauty and the Beast. “Are you stoked or are you stoked?!”

  Milton was bouncing off the walls with energy, likely owing to the fact that he was sipping the largest can of Red Bull that I’d ever seen through one of those twisty straws. I explained that I was, in fact, very stoked.

  “Hold the phone!” Red gasped as he saw my new costumes hanging from the rack. “Who the heck is your fairy dragmother?”

  Red very carefully ran his fingers across the beads, like someone touching a great thousand-year-old Egyptian artifact. I blushed, wanting to tell them all about Tina but too afraid of word getting out.

  “A friend of mine loaned them to me.”

  Milton and Red fawned all over the gowns, Red going so far as to Instagram a photo of them with the hashtag #fashionheaven, before going back to the mirror and finishing their makeup. Pip appeared, already in his first outfit, a flowing floral printed skirt with a fitted halter top made out of burlap or hemp or something else you could smoke. His straight blond wig went all the way down to his seemingly nonexistent butt.

  “Salutations
, dude. I have a gift for you.” He placed a small crystal in my hand. “It’s for good luck. It’s a crystal found in an ancient Tibetan cave where a group of monks have lived for forty years in a vow of silence. Or at least that’s what the girl at Urban Outfitters said.”

  I told him I didn’t have anything for him, but he stopped me, launching into a long speech about how he didn’t give me something to receive something, but to put forth the positive energy he hopes to live in himself … or something else that Deepak Chopra, Angelina Jolie, and Elmo would have approved of.

  “The whole reason we’re here, dude. Like, the whole thing … life or whatever … it’s to try and make it a little bit better for the next person.”

  In the few days I’d known him, I had never heard him say a negative thing about anything or anyone. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone an entire day without bitching at least a dozen times. I knew that I would probably never manage to be as positive as Pip, but experiencing his kindness, and reflecting on all that others had done for me in the past few days, made me want to try a little harder.

  He gave me a big hug, wished me luck, and walked back to his makeup station, but not before shouting back to me, “Party!”

  I made a mental note to include this kindness I had experienced in my speech … which was when it dawned on me that I still hadn’t written it! I was just beginning to spiral into yet another wave of panic when there was a ridiculously loud crowing noise, followed by the unforgettably gruff guffaw of Lady Rooster.

  She was standing in the doorway of the dressing room, decked out in the most stunning orange velvet gown, with the kind of enormous collar you’d see on a Count Dracula cape. Her wig was made entirely out of actual rooster feathers. She looked like Big Bird’s aunt from South Florida.

  “Helloooooo, my ferocious drag teens! Mother has arrived!” Many of the other contestants clapped and cheered, excited to see Lady Rooster in person. “Who in here is ready to give these rich old gay people the best drag show they’ve ever seen?!”

  We all cheered some more, the energy building and building with each moment. As I looked across the room at all these guys from so many different places, I thought about just how cool all of this was. We had all found one another, found our brothers in drag, our sisters in fierceness, even those we didn’t get along with—there was still a connection to celebrate. My eyes landed on Tash, in the corner of the room, looking uncharacteristically petrified. I saw, in his hand, the cause of his panic: a broken heel. My immediate reaction was a feeling of karma finally working correctly … but as I watched him spiral, I couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy, and see more than just a little bit of myself in him. Maybe Pip was rubbing off on me. I needed to be writing my speech, and beyond that, I had every right to hate Tash, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch as everyone ignored his hysteria. So I walked over.